


Still As Bright

by baranduin



Category: Alexander Trilogy - Renault
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-16
Updated: 2010-01-16
Packaged: 2017-10-06 08:43:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baranduin/pseuds/baranduin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Years after Alexander's death, Bagoas celebrates his birthday in Alexandria.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Still As Bright

Bagoas stepped inside his bedchamber and shut the door, leaning against it for a moment while his eyes adjusted to the dim light. Only one lamp was lit, but it was enough for the dull gleam of gold to welcome him home.

The public ceremonies of Alexander's birthday were over, and Bagoas' ritual duties at the tomb completed until next year. But there was another ritual that Bagoas celebrated on this day; it was performed with a full heart in the privacy of his bedchamber. He always followed the same sequence of actions, as though they were the steps of a dearly loved dance, as indeed they were even without the music of cymbal and flute to guide him.

There was a wooden chest that sat at the foot of his narrow bed. The room itself was of modest size and the rest of its furnishings simple though comfortable and well-made, but this chest held pride of place and all eyes were drawn to it.

It remained locked day and night except for the one hour each year that Bagoas dedicated to it and its contents. It was his discipline to order the hour of its opening and closing just as it was always his will that kept his body lean and lithe, long though the years had grown between Susa and Alexandria. He kept an hourglass on his night table, and it measured out the minutes for him while he knelt before the chest and made his devotions.

The chest was large and ornate. It did not sit flush on the floor since four lion's feet crouched there, keeping it upright and away from the plain stone tiles. When he'd commissioned the artisan to make the chest, he'd not requested this particular embellishment, but it had pleased him for had not Alexander been born during the Lion Month?

The wood was carved on all sides with scenes intricately wrought though they did not tell of great deeds and battles, but of homely things. A picnic in a spring meadow. A dancer and his audience of one. A kiss. Bagoas had been pleased overall with their execution though he always felt that the artisan had not quite captured the feel of Alexander as much as he would have liked. But how could he have? The man had never seen Alexander in life, either as he appeared to those who obeyed him as Great King or to those who were his friends and lovers.

_But they were all his lovers of one sort or another, each one welcome to his measure and with enough for all. _

Bright was the chest for it was covered all over with gold leaf most intricately applied to every curve and crease of tunic, to every plane of muscle and flesh. And if the sculptor had not been able to quite capture Alexander's face to Bagoas' satisfaction, the gleam of gold did him credit.

He kneeled before the chest and slipped the key into the lock. It turned easily. The lid was heavy enough that he used both hands to lift it. And then he took a moment to breathe deeply as the scent of cedar filled the room. It made him smile a little, for the smell of cedar was supposed to be clean and bracing to the senses. Even so, he always found himself slipping into a light daze, clearheaded enough to perform his loving ritual as he liked to but aware that he had fallen a little into a heightened state of consciousness. All he would have to do was close his eyes and there he and Alexander would be, clasped tight in each other's arms again on the ancient cedar-wood bed at Zadrakarta.

Though Bagoas was careful with the sequence of his devotions, like all artists, he knew not to constrain every action too closely, not to do every little thing in the same order but to let the steps of his dance guide him. Tonight, he dipped his hand into the chest, his heart open to whatever he would first touch, and then a square silk pouch was smooth against his palm as he drew it out and slid his fingers into it.

_"What is it?" I asked, leaning forward to see what little thing Alexander had found by the riverbank. Perhaps a lily had attracted him by its sweet scent, or maybe he'd found a stone that, worn smooth by the river's current, fit just right against his hand._

Alexander held up his prize, and I laughed. "A twig?"

"Come here. It is not just any twig," Alexander said and opened his arms.

I settled against his chest and inspected this very important twig.

"Look how it grows apart," said Alexander, holding it up and tracing its spiraling growth with his forefinger, so delicately. "It is one at the base, but see how it splits apart ..."

And now I was caught by its intricacy. "Apart but they twine together round and round. Al'skander, it is how we sleep sometimes at night. We must save it."

And so he had, and it was with him still. He set it on the bed, right at the edge in pride of place so that it would not be hidden by the other mementoes he would dredge from the chest.

The next thing he pulled out made him grin, though perhaps he was just in a smiling temper tonight. He held the old book in his hand, its much-mended leather binding still holding the pages together though just barely. After all, it had gotten much use.

_"Come on, it's your turn. I know your Greek lessons have been going well. Let me hear you read," Alexander said, opening the book before I had the chance to wriggle out of it. _

"As you wish," I said, leaning against his shoulder and turning the pages until he stopped me and pointed.

"That part."

As I began reading, I considered my dilemma for never in life could Kyros have done such a thing. Oh, it wasn't that I was afraid to tell Alexander and it would not have been the first time that I pointed out an incorrect passage. But I had not been the reader before so always had been able to keep a straight face about me. Have you ever tried to recite something you knew to be ridiculous and not laughed aloud? Though I tried to keep my lips from twitching, I'm afraid I was not very successful. Alexander's hand placed firmly over the page told me so.

When I stopped reading and met his eyes, he lifted my hand to his lips, keeping it pressed against his cheek as he spoke. "Ah. This did not happen quite in this way."

I shrugged, searching for the correct words. "Perhaps it did and it is only through the translation that some embroidery has been added." Even when telling him that something he had cherished was not true, it was difficult for me to be abrupt with him.

"Embroidery?" Alexander laughed and shut the book. "So this is not something you would advise I undertake the next time I hold a feast?"

I said nothing, just smiled and shook my head.

"You read very well," he said softly and leaned in for a kiss.

Sometimes Bagoas thought that he might read Xenophon's story of Kyros again. Oh, not that copy; he would always save handling Alexander's copy for Alexander's birthday night. But somehow he never did seek out another copy and knew in his heart that he never would.

Next to be unearthed from the chest were the two garlands of gold leaves he'd won for his dancing. He kept each one wound in soft cloth and was always careful when unwrapping them for it would not do to bend the gilt olive branches. The weight had surprised him the first time he received one from Alexander's hand, but in Karmania he'd hardly felt it at all, at least not after the Macedonians all shouted out, "Kiss him! Kiss him!"

_Alexander's mouth was hard against mine as he kissed me once, twice. I drew back in the circle of his arms and looked up at him. His face was flushed though he had not drunk deeply or taken part in the games himself._

"More later," he whispered.

"There was always more, for everyone," Bagoas whispered. He sat with his head bowed, one of the wreaths in his lap and the other on his head, and stroked the sheet gold ribbons that fell against his face, remembering when _more_ ran out.

After a few minutes, he straightened his back and continued pulling out his treasures—the little gold box containing a lock of Alexander's hair, a leaf picked up somewhere and admired for its shape—looking at each one intently before setting it on the bed. Finally, when the sands were running out, he came to the last two objects. He pulled the first onto his lap and raised its fabric to his face, inhaling deeply. There were many things written into the old tunic—sweat, dirt, desire. And underlying it all, the scent of Alexander remained as though it had been spun into the very threads of the cloth.

_We were camped in Bactria, our moving city spread out across the plain. They returned in late afternoon, Alexander and the men he'd taken with him, tracking Bessos ever closer. He was very dirty and sweaty when he came inside his tent. I spoke a soft word of greeting to him and he grinned at me while I undid the clasps of his leather corselet._

"Did you find him, my lord?" I asked.

"Not this time."

I started to say some words of consolation, but he didn't give me time, his usual gentleness of touch abandoned. He pulled me hard into his arms and kissed me, his mouth open and hot against mine. As he bore me backwards, pressing me onto the bed, and his tunic tore in his haste to take me, I had time only for the stray thought, "This is different ..."

But I did not mind.

The tears that had welled while Bagoas remembered the Karmanian kisses now fell. He wet the torn tunic with them, and the salt of them mingled with those of all the years past when he'd held the cloth to his face.

The last object brought back his discipline and sense of dignity. It was heavy in his hands as he held it and traced the familiar features with numb fingers.

"Are you with him now?"

_It was late, the middle of the night, and I was cold from waiting for Alexander to come to bed. He'd said not to wait up for him, but I did. It was my right._

At last I heard them coming. I heard their voices murmuring together just before they burst through the tent's opening, each stumbling a little. Hephaistion held him up with one arm around his waist.

They did not see me sitting on the floor in the corner.

It was not the first time I'd been overlooked, but it was the first time Hephaistion did not simply help him to bed—undo his sandals, set water on his bedside table, share a quiet jest. They did not speak at all but stood in a close embrace, Alexander's head on Hephaistion's shoulder. Hephaistion raised one hand and stroked Alexander's hair, running a strand of bright gold through his fingers.

He saw me then. I did not expect it, and I do not like to think what was written on my face. Something ugly I am sure for the sight of them scalded me. We stared at each other for a long minute while Alexander still stood pressed to him, oblivious of the battle going on around him. I did not move from my spot on the floor save to draw my knees to my chest and hug them close to me. Scalding or not, I was freezing and the sight of them warm in each other's arms was not helping.

There was something in his face as he pulled away from Alexander, something that I'd not seen before or at least not at such close quarters. It looked like sadness. Then he smiled at Alexander and said, "Bagoas is here to see you to bed. Good night, my love."

As he spoke, I stood and stretched—to get the kinks out of my stiff legs and to pull my face into some semblance of welcome for my lord. I saw Alexander turn around to greet me, but I kept my eyes cast down for I had interrupted them. And I was no one.

Hephaistion left and I watched Alexander's legs approach me. "What's this?" he said and put his arms around me. I looked up, and he smiled at me, his eyes a little bleary from sitting up so late and drinking the strong Bactrian wine. "You're so cold. You should at least have wrapped a blanket around you if you were going to disobey my order." But I had forgotten that I had ever been cold, and the warmth of his hands was enough as he pressed my head to his shoulder.

Bagoas lifted the alabaster head of Hephaistion and held it before his eyes. His hands shook a little, but his vision cleared while the sands of the hourglass ran out and the tears dried on his cheeks.

"I hope that you are with him," he said in a steady voice.

* * *

The key turned in the lock with an easy click, the chest shut until next year. Bagoas stood before it, taking in each of its carved scenes, neither lingering nor hurrying. When he was finished, he raised his hand to his mouth and kissed the chalcedony ring on his finger, his lips smiling against the carved head.

"I love you, Al'skander."

* * *

  


_And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart and a song of praise upon your lips.   
(The Prophet by Kahil Gibran, "Love")_

  


* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: The title is taken from a passage in the book: _"It is time you had your hair cut." He never had it curled, and left it to hang in careless locks like a lion's mane; but he had it cut with care, to keep its shape. In early days, I stole a piece from the barber's cloth. I have it now, in a little golden box. It is still as bright as the gold. (The Persian Boy, page 253)_


End file.
